He is here, come down to look for
It is the song that calls you back
a song of joy and suffering
equally: a promise:
that things will be different up t

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,

I’d seen
their hoofprints in the deep
needles and knew
they ended the long night
under the pines, walking

Do you think of me
as often
as I think
of you?

There will always be something to
There will always be wrongs to rig
There will always be need for a ma
And men unafraid to fight.
There will always be honor to guar

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hum
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there t
Here the clam deep in the speckled

A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could the
Said the fly, “let us flee!”
“Let us fly!” said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the

Come let us mock at the great
That had such burdens on the mind
And toiled so hard and late
To leave some monument behind,
Nor thought of the levelling wind.

A million million spermatozoa
All of them alive;
Out of their cataclysm but one poo
Dare hope to survive.
And among that billion minus one

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they
are not.
those odd ones, not

Up, black, striped and demasked li
At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tai
Paraded the skunk. Night after ni
I expected her like a visitor.
The refrigerator whinnied into sil

I thought it would last my time—
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and f
Where the village louts could clim
Such trees as were not cut down;